


Daylight’s Star (each atom sings to me)

by Hyeyu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Astronomical Metaphors, Emotions Taking Oikawa Over, Feelings, Introspection, M/M, Metaphors, Minor pining, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyeyu/pseuds/Hyeyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanamaki likens Oikawa to the sun. Iwaizumi thinks otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daylight’s Star (each atom sings to me)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorrynotsorry for the use of cliched metaphors. ♥ This really reads more as a vignette than a fully-fledged fic, but I was stretching my (super-cramped) writing muscles and wanted to try framing a snapshot moment in words.
> 
> Title is from Steve Conte's 'Garden of Everything' (ft. Maaya Sakamoto).

"Hey."

The sudden sound cuts through the crisp air, nudging at Oikawa’s attention. It takes him awhile to acknowledge it - the chill of the approaching autumn had seeped into their usual banter, quietening both of them as it blankets their walks home from school in companionable, if exhausted silence.

Oikawa’s known his childhood friend long enough to recognize the weight in Iwaizumi’s tone that signalled serious thought though. Curious, he marshals his thoughts together from where they had been drifting aimlessly through tomorrow’s schedule, refocusing them on Iwaizumi.

"Hmm?" 

"...ah, forget it." Iwaizumi grimaces, running a hand through his hair. "It’s stupid, really."

Oikawa squashes the automatic instinct to tease, humming agreeably instead. "No no, go on."

"You remember what Hanamaki said at lunch? That if we were literary metaphors, you'd probably be the sun?" 

“Considering how excited he was over it, it’s kind of hard to forget.” Hanamaki had spent the whole lunch period enthusing about the figure of speech his class had been taught during their Literature period. He proceeded to spend the rest of the hour linking each member of their volleyball team to a suitably unrelated object which he insisted shared the same characteristics as their human counterpart. Kyoutani, predictably, was a mad dog, Kunimi a cloud. Yahaba had stumped Hanamaki briefly before being declared a grenade. Iwaizumi had to forcibly dissuade Hanamaki from labelling Kindaichi a pineapple, and the latter had settled on a spear instead.

Matsukawa was likened to a palm tree, Iwaizumi to a volcano. And Oikawa, Hanamaki had said grandly, could be the sun, since he was the team captain after all.

Now, Iwaizumi’s voice is low and thoughtful. "He's wrong. You'd be the moon."

"The moon?" The breeze snatches Oikawa's chuckle away from him, pulling it out into the open sky. "It doesn't even have its own light, Iwa-chan; didn't you pay attention in Science? Unless you're implying something..."

"That's not it." Surprised at the unexpected vehemence, Oikawa turns, sees Iwaizumi with his hands tucked in his pockets as he squints at the sunset in the distance. "The sun… well, it seems really self-centered, y'know? Everything revolves around it, of course, and it is the center of the universe. But, it never changes, it’s always so bright. No one can be that strong all the time. Not even you, no matter what you keep thinking in that idiot head of yours."

"But when it's night and the sun is on the other side of the world, the moon is there, ready to do what it needs to do to shine light in the dark. And it doesn’t look the same every night. Sometimes it’s perfect, and beautiful, and easy to admire. Sometimes, it hides because it’s sulking or scared or something, but there is still light because the moon never fails to fulfill its duty, no matter how it feels. Also, you can't look at the sun directly, but whenever you’re alone, you can look up and go "Ah, the moon is here." And somehow, it’s a little less lonely, knowing the moon is on your side." 

Words gather within Oikawa's lungs, press against the barrier of his throat as he stares at Iwaizumi, outlined against the fading day with evening caught within the spaces of his jacket, the crook of his arms and the curve of his smile. He draws in a breath, trips over it and the world obligingly stills for the space of a heartbeat.

Then Iwaizumi turns to him and the sunlight is in his eyes, caught within the crinkles at the corners of his eyelids as he laughs, self-deprecating. "Ah, damn. That was really weird, wasn't it?"

Somewhere, a bird sings; a train grumbles across worn tracks; leaves rustle gently as they bid spring goodbye. But none of these are replies Oikawa can draw upon. He should say something - it’s his turn to speak, to laugh it off, make a mundane comment, point out they should hurry back to their respective homes before it gets too cold. But he is curiously rooted, paralyzed and electrified and overwhelmed all at once, and it's all he can do to look at Iwaizumi, bag slung over broad shoulders, tall and familiar and beloved.

It’s unfair, Oikawa thinks, how easily honest Iwaizumi is where Oikawa isn’t. He wants to catch Iwaizumi’s words the way they used to catch cicadas, net them within the cage of his fingers and press them against the ache in his chest. He wants to sigh and surrender, open-armed to the irresistible pull of Iwaizumi's gravity. For if Oikawa is the moon, then Iwaizumi is his sun, steady and sure and so very bright. And if he’d only let him, Oikawa would fall into step, would drift away from rest of the world to orbit solely around him, drawing from his strength to be strong. 

But, for all the romanticism and myths and love stories, the sun and moon never touched, will never touch, destined to march across different ends of the same sky except for the rare strange moments when it was neither day nor night.

"Oikawa?"

The distance between them is short; he doesn’t realize he’s moved until he is already in Iwaizumi’s space, tugging insistently at his sleeve until a tanned hand emerges. He tangles his fingers with shorter, callused ones as he searches Iwaizumi’s face, watches as confusion dissolves into understanding, then indulgence as a sigh skims along Oikawa's cheek. Oikawa leans in then, resting his head on a broad shoulder as warm arms come up to pull him closer. 

They stay like that, an eclipse in the center of their own solar system until Oikawa’s voice thaws enough to murmur,

“That’s so cliche, Iwa-chan.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! (o˘◡˘o)
> 
> As per usual, mad props to [enzen](http://wataksampingan.tumblr.com/) for kicking me into properly finishing this.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://hweiro.tumblr.com/), if you want to stop on by.


End file.
